COPYRIGHT (c)

Don't be an ass. Seriously. If you can't write, you can't write. Period! Don't steal my stuff... if you do, the wrath of the gods of Olumo rock will fall on your head, your hair will not stay combed, mad men will invade your home, food in the freezer will spoil mysteriously. NO-ONE WILL TALK TO YOU AT PARTIES!!!

The chicken and I

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Someone decided he wanted to get something for my parents over Christmas. And, for some reason, the something he decided on was a chicken.
A live, ku-ku-ru-ku-ing chicken. A radio station was supporting his plan. “A living animal,” they said, “is what you give people for Christmas.” They said it had something to do with culture.
I respect the place of culture for tribes to identify themselves and judge other tribes for not being similar to them.
But in this particular thing? I object.
I object to, getting as a Christmas gift, the blood curdling last cry of an animal and the sight of its blood spewing left right and centre. Not to talk of having the fable that beheaded chickens run around for a while proven to be fact as an added bonus to an already bloody Christmas.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not a vegetarian. I love meat. I’ve had goat and cow and chicken and turkey and snail and shrimp and lobster and rabbit. But, I am an eater not a killer.
To have my face be the last thing the chicken sees before it goes to chicken heaven? No.
And let’s face it, chances are while said chicken looks unblinkingly at me begging to live, i would let it walk free
My poor friend, Dammy, spent her christmas eve screaming and trying to bathe off the sight of dying bloody chicken from her mind. But, i bet she ate the fattest chicken thigh on the table on Christmas day and as many as she wanted at that; and with her newly found murdering instinct would have twisted the neck off anyone that dared to even think of complaining.
I do love having to eat as many chickens as I can but, I can’t handle a live animal.
I.
Cannot.
Its 2016, that’s what supermarkets are for. And with their array of choices, You can get the chicken frozen, you can even get it cooked, you can get only drumsticks, you can get only wings, and my personal favourite, you can get it smoked… If you haven’t tasted smoked chicken, you are missing out on throwing a party in your mouth that your taste buds will never forget.

To God be the glory, I got out of going home that day holding a scared chicken, a situation that displeased Someone greatly but oh well 😁☺😊

I read something about how this supermarket culture has taken us far from the source of food, and how we see food as a ‘product’ to buy rather than a thing that was created with hard work. So the book said, when you have grown your own wheat, you wouldn’t waste food as easily as you do now. I do see that, and I’d love to try growing my own food, but killing my own chicken – I’ll draw the line at that 😦

That’s true. But it’s more important with food because it has changed so much over the decades, and because it’s something that goes inside us, not like the clothes we wear, or the houses we live in. Yet, we’re now used to buying food like a product.